Disconnect
by dosv
Summary: Dave Strider has newfound success as a music producer / DJ. But is his newfound success going to hurt his longest lasting friendships?
1. Chapter 1

You are Dave Strider. You are currently the hottest new producer/DJ of the year, and you suppose life could not be better. You moved from Houston to the metropolis of New York, with your bro, Bro. He is your best friend and manager, scoring you gigs across the country, and soon enough, the world. He has been with you during your sickeningly rapid rise to fame, and doesn't really give a shit about it, and still ironically demeans you and treats you like he did when you were still a scrub. However, despite his constant company, you feel shatteringly lonely. You haven't spoken to your friends, John, Jade, and Rose, since any of this sweet deal started erupting. What a diva thing to do. It's not like you did it intentionally though. That'd be really uncool.

You stand in total darkness. Not really though. Your eyes are just closed. You hear the drone of the bass and synth and the wild screaming of the crowd, weakened by the sound of your monitor speakers, shouting for more, half of them probably drooling on their own shirts, courtesy of whatever drugs have been pumped into their systems over the course of the night. You reach forward and feel the treble and mid range knobs between the fingers of your right hand, and with the other you reach for the second deck and set the last eight beats of the measure before the drop to re-loop, precisely four times. As the moment slides toward you, you gently nudge the treble and midrange towards the right, slowly knocking the synth and vocals back into full swing, the crowd rising with them. The drop is about to hit, but you slam down on the auto-loop to quickly snap back to the start of the measure. Building anticipation is the one thing you can't ever forget, you think as Bros words echo through the back of your mind. You kick off the loop to the brief moments before the main bass-line starts back up, and open your eyes and glance up at the crowd.

They love this shit.

You're winding down now. Fifteen minutes left till your set is over and whatever tool that's playing to clean out the drunk, wasted stragglers goes on. You swear you feel your phone vibrating in your pocket, but you think nothing of it. You chalk it up to the bass buzzing up your legs from the floor, and either way, it's uncool stage etiquette to check your phone while you're playing. Unless it's to send a picture of a cute babe in the front row to Bro. He loves that shit. For some reason.

Almost two hours later, you're finally leaving the venue. You jump into the back of a sleek black town-car, and Bro is already in there playing with a synthesizer app on his phone.

"You did good tonight, little man." You nod half-assed. "Yeah."

"You're not getting an early case of the pussy-outies are ya? I thought I taught you better than that." You shoot him an obviously dirty look. "No, I'm just the living embodiment of sexiness for millions of idiots right now. Even sex gods need a break." But you really are just exhausted.

You lie down against the plush seats on your side of the car, and pull out your phone to check for any messages, and your heart sinks as the words light up on the screen.

- ectoBiologist [EB] pestered you at 00:43 -


	2. Chapter 2

You stare at the screen in disbelief, in shock and in anger, mainly directed at yourself because you were too damn polite to a room full of inebriated party-goers to verify that it was, in fact, just the bass reverberating through your leg. You check your watch. 2:53 AM. You log into the Pesterchum app on your phone to see if John's online, but he isn't. A little odd, you think, considering that the kid stays up all night. Or at least he used to when you talked a lot. Did he stay up to talk to you? He never seemed to mind staying up as late as you even though he'd always be like

"daaaaaaaaave, I'm tired."

"go to sleep then"

"i'm not that tired, dunkass. :B"

Maybe there was a reaso- "HEY!"

You startle and jump in your seat as Bro watches your graceful dance on the plush upholstery. You look at him with a scowl through your reflective shades. "Why the excessive volume?"

"You kiddin' me, little dude? I'm surprised you can hear at all after standing next to those speakers all night." You stare at him dumbfounded, shocked at the sheer stupidity of those words that just came out of his mouth. "Wow what are you serious that's like 60% of the job right there how could you _even-_" He cuts you off with his deep warm laughter, the one he uses when he knows something is bothering you and he's trying to drop mad hints at you to give it up.  
>"Tell me."<p>

You look at him and let out a long, drawn out, almost mocking sigh. "John pestered me during the show." You stare down at the palms of your hands as the words slip out of your mouth. Bro obviously stiffens, knowing how much you care about John. "Shit. You didn't answer?" You sigh again as you think back to that moment when you felt the pulsating against your hip. "I didn't know if it was my phone or just my leg feeling the groove."

You sit in silence now, the eternally lit Manhattan streets whizzing past and into the distance around the car. You stare out and up your massive apartment building as you come to a soft halt right outside the front door. It's eerily similar to the pad you shared with Bro back in Houston, which you still think wasn't as much of a coincidence as Bro said it was. You grab hold of your gig bag and nod to the driver as you step out of the car into the icy weather, shake the door man's hand as you pass through into the heated lobby, and pause in front of the elevator and look back to see Bro catching up to you. You both enter the elevator.

You lean against the glass trimmed walls, the elevator beginning its quick ascent to the penthouse level. You stare down at your feet, your finger idly tracing the outline of your phone in your pocket, waiting and hoping for a message you know isn't coming. You glance over at Bro, who's still fiddling with that synthesizer app on his phone, allowing it to utter a soft electronic buzz or tone every so often. The elevator comes to a halt at your floor, and you pull your electronic key out of your pocket and place it in the access slot. The doors slide open to your darkened apartment, and you go through. You start to head for your room when you feel Bro's hand on your shoulder. Turning to face him, you see that he's taken off his glasses, and his bright orange eyes appear to be glowing against the light of the entrance hallway. This is what you recognize as his serious face, not something he pulls out often.

"Call him tomorrow, okay?"

You can't help but crack a smile as you feel tears well in your eyes. You nod at him. Bro's a doofus when he cares. You about-face and head straight for your room.

You wake up the next day to the feeling of hard plastic hitting the side of your head and Bro's voice yelling "Phone for ya, kid," as he leaves the room. In your sleepless haze you fumble with the handset until you manage to get it right-side up against your ear.

"Hello?"

"Good morning, Mister Strider." You recognize the voice as the downstairs receptionist.

"We have a visitor for you down here."

It takes you a moment to register her words.

"A visitor?"

"Yes sir, a Miss Rose Lalonde."


	3. Chapter 3

You suddenly sit up straight in your bed as you hear the syllables come through the phone. What? Why the hell is Rose here? She doesn't live close by any means. You look at the clock hanging on the far wall of your room. Twelve in the afternoon on the dot. It would've taken her at least seven hours to get here by car, not accounting for traffic. She was either already here, or was awake at late o'clock in the middle of the fucking night to be here at this time.

"Yeah , send her up I guess." "Will do, Mister Strider. Have a nice day." You drop the phone down on your bedside table, grab your shades and slip them on your face. As you proceed to slide your fingers under the lenses to rub the gunky night shit out of your eyes, you reconsider the order of your morning ritual. You step out of your bed and reach down into a cabinet and pull out a pair of sweat pants. You're barely able to finish pulling them onto your legs when you hear the doorbell chime to the tune of the General Lee's horn. Bro's idea.

"Who the hell is at the door?", Bro shouts. "It's Lalonde. If you're not dressed and fully covered, get there in less than ten seconds," you yell back. Bro groans as he rolls off his recliner, loud enough so you can hear all the effort he puts in to be presentable for your friends. You slide the lock open and pull the door towards you.

"You headed to the ball tonight, Cinderella?" Your oldest friend looks at you and raises a single eyebrow, and pulls back one side of her mouth into a smirk. You always thought it was interesting how she could compartmentalize her facial muscles, just like you could. She's wearing a two-sizes-too-large Skrillex shirt you got her as a joke for her last birthday. "Shut up, David." She wraps her arms around you, and despite your indifference for physical contact, there's something both unsettling and comforting about her embrace.

"So what exactly are you here for? Autograph? Free shirt? Tryin' ta be a groupie? You know I don't play that Ro-" "Dave." You get the message, and you stop moving your noise hole. "How've you been, Dave?" she asks as she walks into your apartment. "Fine, I guess." "Only fine? Dave, in the last year alone you've gone from writing asinine raps and music in a bedroom the size of a large closet to.. all this." She beckons around the room. "Well, I ain't gonna lie to you, Lalonde. I'm really not emotionally that much different thatn I was before. I didn't suddenly become Mr. Big Shot Beatmaster and go all hollow and dead inside from fame. Not yet anyway." You notice a glint of sadness in her eyes. "You haven't spoken to any of us in a long time." Your shades and hair hide the scowl that forms on your face. "It wasn't on purpose if that's what you're insinuating. It's fuckin' hard to bal-" "Take it easy, Dave. I don't think you're any more of a douchebag than you were before all this. You scoff. "You still haven't told me why you're here." She heads for the living room. "Get me a Coke and I'll explain everything. Diet Coke."

You hand her an icy can of Diet Coke that she sips thoughtfully, as you pop open your own can of Coke Zero. "So," she says as she looks at you. "So? You're not here just to say hi and drink my soda. Spit it out." She sighs and straightens against the couch, and pulls out her laptop.

"I spoke to John last night." Your heart sinks. The color drains from your face and your heart begins to pound faster, for what reason you're not sure of. You try to keep your composure. "Calm down, David." God dammit.

"What.. what did you talk about?"

"The usual. Obviously some new things."

"The messages?"

"Yes."

"I was doing a show. I didn't feel it going off." You should have felt it going off, you stupid piece of shit.

"I know. I told him that but he seemed particularly intent on pursuing his sudden mad depression."

You feel the color drain from your face again. "Depression?" She glances uncomfortably across the room. "Yes. He's been a little depressed for a while. And before you ask, it's only partially you. He's having trouble at school with people that have seen fit to turn him into a punching bag, and his relationship with his father has been more tense than usual, for what reason he refuses to tell me."

Your stomach drops. I should have been there. I should have made time to talk to him.

"I told him that the issues with his dad is likely because of his mood but.." She trails off as the computer lights up. You look up at her. She lifts the laptop off of her legs and places it in your lap, a pesterlog opened up. "Read this."

[TT]: How long has it been since you tried to message him?

[EB]: almost an hour by now, i guess.

[EB]: exactly an hour.

[TT]: He's doing a show right now. It's possible he doesn't have his phone with him.

[EB]: he always has it with him, rose! he's never offline!

[TT]: He's different when he's on stage, John. Just calm down and give him time to receive the message.

[EB]: it's been a year! he's ignoring us and i'm almost positive of it. you really think he cares about us anymore? he's fucking gone.

[TT]: John.

[TT]: You know he isn't like that. He's still the same Dave we talked to before, still the same Dave we all love, but considerably more busy with a fledgling career on his hands.

[EB]: i know.

[EB]: i find that hard to believe, even so. all the movies say fame changes people, and it's obviously happening to dave! can't you with all your psychology skills see that?

[TT]: I see logic, John. And logic dictates that a person like Dave can go unfazed by things like this. He acts like a dunkass a lot, yeah, but he's still Dave.

[EB]: i'll believe that when i see it.

[TT]: You want me to prove it to you?

[EB]: how are you gonna go about that?

[TT]: Hold on.

[TT]: Talk to me at ten in the morning your time tomorrow.

[EB]: ?

[TT]: Just get some rest, John.

[TT]: Good night.

[EB]: … good night, i guess.

tentacleTherapist[TT] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 02:00 –

You look at her, then at the clock on her computer. 12:20 PM. 9:20 for John. "Oh, fuck." She lets out a barely audible giggle. "Are you insane, Rose? You came all the way to Manhattan from the middle-of-fucking-nowhere Falls to make me have a _video call_ with J-" "Cool it, Dave. I'm not forcing you into anything. This little trip has been something I've been planning for a while as a surprise. It just so happens that the Great Egbert Breakdown of 2012 occurred at the same time. This is going to be beneficial for all of us, whether you realize it yet or not. Even Jade is in on this to an extent." "Yeah? How involved is she?" "Enough to know that I've been heading toward this for a while. She knows John's side. She doesn't mean to come off as impassive, but you know Harley." You shake your head at her inexplicable ability to read you like a book. "What now?" you ask. "Well, John will be calling within the hour. He doesn't know I'm with you, so I suppose I'll tell him everything that's happened in sequence, then you can join in if you wish and we'll go from there." You bury your head in your hands. "I hope you know where you're going with this, Lalonde."

"Do I ever not?"

"God just shut the hell up please"

She laughs again.


End file.
